


Eddie Gets A Love Letter

by Hayleythewriter



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Secret Admirer, The Losers Club (IT) All Appear, The Losers try their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayleythewriter/pseuds/Hayleythewriter
Summary: Eddie hasn't told his friends about his secret admirer, but the Losers find out anyway. There's mixed reactions, but Richie seems quiet. Too quiet.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 274





	Eddie Gets A Love Letter

“Are you studying without us?” Stan asked from the kitchen doorway. Bill’s head snapped up, and he quickly hid the paper he was holding behind his back. Just not quick enough.

“What’s that?” Stan asked. He sounded resigned, but Bill saw the burning curiosity just below the surface. 

“I-it’s um. . . an oh-old recipe. I-I f-found.” 

“Bill,” Stan sounded almost disappointed, “That’s a terrible lie, even for you.” 

Bill swallowed and shoved the paper into his back pocket. Then he held out his hands, in mock surrender, “Oh-okay, l-look, I’m going to the b-bathroom and then I-I’ll—” 

Stan blocked him from leaving and wrapped an arm around his waist, trying to get the paper. Bill shoved him off, but Stan managed to grab a corner and yank the paper free. 

“You sh-shouldn’t read that,” Bill glared, but Stan pushed past him and into the kitchen, holding the paper inches from his face and reading it eagerly. Bill tried to grab the paper back, but Stan held it higher and ignored him, “I-it’s personal and you sh-shouldn’t be—” 

“Holy shit,” Stan had only read a few paragraphs, but he got the gist. He turned to Bill, slightly shocked, “Where did you find this?” 

Bill grimaced, “I-I. . .” he sighed, “I knew Eddie had eh-extra pencils in his backpack. I w-was just gonna b-borrow one, honest, but th-then I saw—” 

Stan raised his eyebrows, “I’m disappointed, yet vaguely impressed. Why didn’t Eddie tell us about this?” 

Bill shrugged, “Maybe he-he’s embarrassed.” 

Stan smirked, “Well, yeah, this is the stupidest love letter I’ve ever read. Of course he’s embarrassed, but why wouldn’t he—” 

“First Billiam takes forever getting snacks, and then when we send Stan the man, he gets fucking lost! I know you’re both desperate for me to do your pre-calc homework but I’m not that easy to trick.” Richie waltzed into the kitchen loudly, obnoxiously, and followed closely by Mike, Bev, and Ben. The Losers had been studying in Bill’s room, when Richie and Eddie had started bickering over something stupid. The bickering led to a cheese puff fight, which led to Richie dumping the entire bowl of cheese puffs on top of Eddie’s head. Eddie insisted on taking a shower, and Richie insisted on Bill getting them new snacks. 

Bill tried to snatch the letter back from Stan while he was distracted, but Stan held it up over his head, out of his reach. Bev stepped forward before Richie could pick something to make fun of. 

“What are you guys fighting over?” 

“Nuh-nothing,” Bill said, at the same time Stan said, “Eddie has a secret lover.” 

Ben choked, Mike and Bev looked unconvinced, and Richie’s eyes nearly popped out of his glasses. 

“Whoa, WHAT the FUCK—” Richie started. 

Bev held up a hand, cutting him off, and turned to Stan, “Could you elaborate a bit on that?” 

“See for yourself,” Stan held out the letter, “Bill snooped in Eddie’s backpack and found a love letter from a secret admirer.” 

“A love letter?” Richie said softly. He looked paler than normal. 

“A love letter,” Ben scratched the back of his neck, “Oh. Heh. Wow.” 

“Okay, I need to read this,” Bev snatched the letter from Stan, who let her have it. Bill stepped forward. 

“N-none of us sh-should read it. It’s not fair to eh-eh-Eddie.” 

Stan rolled his eyes, “You’re the one who snooped in the first place, Sherlock, you can’t take the high road now.” 

“I-I didn’t know wh-what it w-was—” 

“You didn’t know at first,” Stan said, pointedly. 

“. . .At first,” Bill admitted, sheepishly. 

Bev’s eyes were sparkling, “ _‘I always miss you, whenever you go, whether I saw you last week, or five seconds ago.’_ You guys. It rhymes! That is so romantic.” 

Stan looked disgusted, “Are you kidding? It’s a typed letter from some crazy stalker.” 

“Stan, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” Mike said, with an amused smile, “It’s probably from some nice, quiet freshman girl who has a crush on our little Eddie.” 

“She hid this letter in his bag. She went through his private property.” 

Mike laughed, “So did Bill. She was being romantic.” 

“This is as romantic as a ransom note.” 

“Hey.” Ben spoke up, “I mean, maybe this girl was just, you know, shy and insecure.” 

Stan raised an eyebrow, “So she wrote a manifesto?” 

“It’s not a— I mean, love letters can be a great way to express your feelings, especially if your feelings are for such an amazing, beautiful, girl like— I mean boy! I mean, uh, Eddie,” Ben cleared his throat. 

Mike, Stan, and Bill stared at Ben. Beverly slowly nodded. 

“You know what. I agree with Ben,” she held up the letter, “ _‘Your fanny pack, is so in style, I really, really, like your smile’_. That’s sweet.” 

“That’s creepy,” Stan argued. “Did you read the part about the heart attack?” 

Bev scanned the rest of the letter, and then read, “ _‘You’re not that tall, you’re a short stack, but you make my heart beat quick, like a heart attack’_. Alright, that’s laying it on a bit thick. And the rhyme is just okay— but for a first-time secret admirer, it’s beautiful. You just don’t understand romance, Stan.” 

“We need to figure out who wrote this, and get a restraining order,” Stan said, flatly. “C’mon— Mike. Ben.” He turned fully to Bill, “Bill. You gotta admit, this girl is weirdly obsessed.” 

All eyes turned toward Bill, but Bill was only looking at one person. 

“Richie. Y-y-you haven’t s-said much.” 

Richie blinked, and suddenly all eyes were on him. In the absence of any obnoxious commentary, they’d almost forgotten he was there. 

“Yeah, you haven’t said anything. Are you. . . okay?” Mike asked, equal parts worried and suspicious. Everyone was waiting for him to answer. Shit. Shit. Richie scrambled for something to say. 

“Actually, Mikey, my man, I’m really upset. I can’t believe there’s a girl in our school this desperate, and I haven’t hit on her yet.” 

Stan rolled his eyes, while Ben and Bev shared a glance. Mike looked unimpressed. Bill folded his arms. 

“Th-that’s why you’re upset?” 

Richie needed to act fast. Bill was too damn observant for his own good. He grabbed the letter from Bev and started sauntering around the kitchen. 

“You wanna know the most pathetic thing about this psycho chick? She obviously doesn’t know Eddie Spaghetti AT ALL. Oh wait— there’s a part two on the back!” 

“Richie,” Bev said with a warning tone. Richie happily ignored her. 

“Oh Edward” Richie used an exaggerated, gushy voice, “seeing you use your inhaler _takes my breath away._ And I see you use it constantly, from the bushes outside your bedroom window.” 

While Bev, Ben, and Mike looked equal parts annoyed and amused, Stan said triumphantly, “See— even Trashmouth thinks it’s creepy.” 

Richie continued, clutching the letter to his chest, “Every night I fall asleep holding a lock of your hair, and imagine our future together. I assume we’ll be living with your mother, because she’d never let you move out.” 

“B-beep—” Bill only managed to get out one beep, so Richie pressed on like he hadn’t heard him. 

“Everyone knows that short and germophobic is the new _sexy._ Don’t worry my love, I’ll bring the hand sanitizer to bed. All the other boys in school are so tall and strong and chill and funny— gag. No thanks! I’d much rather fuck a walking medical encyclopedia, and here you are. Oooh baby your nasal spray is so hot—and it won’t be the only thing squirt—” 

“Fuck you, Richie.” 

Richie froze, with his back to the kitchen doorway. He twisted around, and there in the entrance was Eddie, freshly showered, and furious. 

“Uh. . . this is Stanley’s fault?” Richie tried. Stan glanced away. 

Eddie stomped into the kitchen and snatched the letter from Richie’s hands. It was like he couldn’t see anyone else in the room. 

“I knew you’d do this—I knew you’d make everything a big fucking joke at my expense. Real mature. Well you know what— I don’t give a fuck what you think about me.” 

“Eds,” Richie held up his hands, but Eddie was on a war path. He clenched his fists. 

“That letter was private—” 

“It wasn’t just Richie,” Bev tried to intervene, but Eddie was completely focused on Richie’s face. Everything else was white noise. 

“You know what— I bet you’re jealous,” Eddie’s eyes lit up at the revelation, “Yeah, you— you’re jealous because nobody would ever write a letter like that to you. You wanna know why, _Trashmouth?_ It’s because everything you do has a fucking punchline. Well guess what? You’re. Not. Funny.” 

“Eds, c’mon,” Richie smirked, “You’re not telling me you actually liked that stupid poem, right?” 

“Maybe I did! Maybe I thought it was nice, for once, for someone to actually like me instead of making fun of me with all of my friends, behind my back. Oh, but fuck me I guess. Someone likes Eds, they must be insane and stupid— well guess what?” Eddie held up the letter, “There _is_ someone who likes me, and not just because I’m the material they use in their fucking comedy specials.” 

Eddie shoved Richie out of his way, stormed across the kitchen, and slammed the screen door leading to Bill’s front yard on his way out. 

The remaining Losers stood, in tense silence. Bill was the first to act. 

He turned to Stan, “You sh-should apologize.” 

“Me?! Trashmouth’s the one who, surprise surprise, took things too far.” 

“Um. Bill? Aren’t you the one who sorta found the letter in the first place?” Ben brought up. 

Stan nodded, “Good point, Ben.” 

Mike stepped toward Stan, “But you’re the one who told the rest of us.” 

“We all need to apologize,” Bev tried to point out, but by now everybody was too busy arguing over each other. Except Richie, strangely silent once again. He stared at the door for another moment before running down the hallway and into Bill’s room. 

\- 

Eddie felt dumb. He held the letter, now slightly crumpled, in his hands as he stood on the curb outside Bill’s house. It was almost sunset, and getting a little chilly, but he wasn’t about to go back inside for his jacket. The wind made the paper flap in his hands. Was it a bad poem? Sure, as far as poems go. But it was the only poem written about him. 

He’d lost his temper back there. His friends were probably laughing about how overdramatic he was. Why did he get so mad? Richie made fun of everyone. And he should’ve known that it was risky keeping something private in his backpack. He glared at the letter. It was still a dick move to look through his stuff, though, even for Richie. 

But he was probably right. Whoever wrote this didn’t actually know him. He even considered at first that it had been slipped into his backpack as a prank, but the last line of the poem always gave him the sense that it was serious. 

“ _‘I couldn’t tell you to your face, I put this in your backpack, I guess that I’m just not as brave, as you are Eddie Kaspbrak.’_ ” 

Eddie crumbled the letter into a ball. This was so stupid. He was so stupid, and probably reading way too much into this. He wished he knew who gave it to him. Now that all the Losers knew, maybe they could help him figure it out, or at least compile a list of suspects. He had absolutely no idea. 

“I thought you’d be halfway home by now.” 

Eddie kicked a rock into the street, “Our pre-calc test is tomorrow, or I would be, asshole.” 

Richie walked up, holding his backpack, which he’d grabbed from Bill’s room, “I’d let you copy my homework, but I haven’t done it yet.” 

“I’m gonna come back inside, I just— needed a few minutes. But if you want to leave, go ahead. Unless you only came out here because you thought of a few more cheap shots. You know, you mentioned my height, but I think there’s more there—” 

Richie gave an exaggerated sigh, “Are you still mad about that?” 

“Am I still—?” Eddie’s incredulous look turned into a glare, “ _Yeah,_ I am still mad, because it happened five minutes ago, dickhead.” 

“Oh,” Richie shrugged. “Well. I guess I thought you’d have figured it out by now. Maybe I was worried for nothing.” 

Eddie squinted, “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Richie didn’t answer, “Look, I know you’ve been . . . whatever lately. Since that sleepover at my house when you complained about how nobody wants to date you or some stupid bullshit like that.” 

“Nice. Real nice label for my crippling insecurities.” 

“Eds, all that stuff is stupid bullshit. You’re a great guy. Anyone would shit bricks for the chance to hang out with you, and they’d eat those shit bricks for the chance to date you. So. Just. Stop complaining already, Jesus.” 

Eddie studied the crumpled ball of paper in his fist. “But this person is too embarrassed of liking me to let anyone else know.” 

Richie’s eyebrows shot up, “Um, what? Where did it say that? Between ‘you’re sooo brave’ and ‘I would take you on the best date ever’?” 

That made Eddie’s head jerk up, and their eyes met. Eddie quickly glanced back down at his hand. 

“If they really wanted to take me on a date, they could just ask. They probably don’t want to be seen with me.” 

“Geez. Not everything’s about you.” 

“The love letter from my secret admirer _isn’t about me?”_

Richie threw back his head. “You know what I meant. It’s not because they don’t want to be seen with you, it’s because, because going on a date is complicated shit. Maybe they only have enough money to buy one burger. Maybe their friends don’t, or their family doesn’t even— I mean, it’s not your fault that they’re chicken shit. You know what I’m saying?” 

Eddie met his gaze. Richie’s voice had a desperate edge. Eddie didn’t look away as he uncrumpled the letter and tore it straight down the middle. Richie flinched at the tearing sound. 

“I know what you’re saying,” Eddie slowly smiled and ripped the letter into fourths, “I don’t need a secret admirer anymore. Besides, printing is a bitch. They should save their money for another burger.” Eddie kept ripping the letter into smaller and smaller pieces as he walked back toward the house. Richie followed after him. 

“Okay, but I didn’t say you should rip it up. That’s ice cold, Eddie Spaghetti. That poem was brilliant. Your stalker rhymed your stupid last name with backpack— that’s some real Shakespeare shit.” 

Eddie opened Bill’s door with a smile on his face. He hadn’t really confirmed who his secret admirer was, but now he had a pretty good idea. His love letter had been two pages long, but he’d only kept the second page tucked away in his backpack. The first page was back home, safely secured in his nightstand. The line about the ‘best date ever’ was on page one. 

Richie stood on the porch, arms folded, “You know, technically that paper isn’t even yours. Congrats. You just destroyed someone’s property. And you wasted paper. That shit could’ve been reduced, reused, recycled—” 

Eddie didn’t say a word and he didn’t plan on it. Actions spoke louder than words anyway. He grabbed Richie by the shirt and pulled him into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: wow I just realized I wrote this whole It fanfic with NOT EVEN ONE YOUR MOM JOKE. Did I even really write an It fanfic?? I’ve dishonored King. In my defense, your mom jokes are hard and long— like my dick? Does that count??


End file.
